


No One Like You

by DasMervin, MrsHyde (DasMervin)



Series: The Writing on the Wall [24]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Begging, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Choking, Come Eating, Come Shot, Come as Lube, Coping, Cuddling, Dark, Deep Throating, Destiel - Freeform, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Dominant Dean, Emotional, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Healing, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Facial, Finally Dean, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Freaked Out Dean, Fucking, Gentle Castiel, Gentle Sex, Hand Jobs, Headcanon, Homophobic Language, Human Castiel, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, If its you its okay, Internalized Homophobia, Lube, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Nervous Dean, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Survivor, Rape/Non-con Elements, Repressed Memories, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Slash, Slow Sex, Spit As Lube, Suit Sex, Surprise Facial, That wasn't okay either Dean, Top Dean, Traumatic Wet Dream, Trust, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vulnerable Dean, Wet Dream, character growth, safe sex, surprise orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-16 13:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1349458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasMervin/pseuds/DasMervin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasMervin/pseuds/MrsHyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration as to why Dean has certain issues with what he and Cas do—and his first step in overcoming them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sick Love Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dark and tormented part of Dean long suppressed and forgotten comes bubbling violently to the surface after an unwanted dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that other dark!fic I mentioned at the end of “[Love Bites](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1150387)”? Well, it’s here.
> 
> This is the one that addresses the question we have gotten so many times: Will Dean ever bottom for Cas? The answer is officially no. Here is the reason why.
> 
> In Season Four, it was pretty heavily implied that Dean’s time in Hell wasn’t just carving him up like a Thanksgiving turkey every day. He was subjected to thirty years of hard torture designed to utterly break him. Between the fact that you can only cut so much and so many ways and the horribly sexual interactions between Dean and Alistair every time they met, the subtext and implications were there that Alistair repeatedly and violently raped Dean in Hell. Then, when Season Seven came along and very firmly established that yes, “Supernatural” is unafraid to Go There by blatantly _spelling out_ that Sam got repeatedly raped in Hell by Lucifer, that pretty much made it part of our headcanon that Alistair did the same to Dean.
> 
> As such, we had always written Dean in our universe as suffering severe PTSD from his experiences. Yeah, we’d written him as naturally enjoying bottoming, at least with a woman, but that was before he was a rape victim. After what he’s been through since then, he could never do it again without revisiting his trauma. Some of you may have noticed that since Day One, all the way back in the original “Writing on the Wall,” Dean has always been extremely protective of his ass where Cas is concerned, getting annoyed any time he touches it—actually getting mad at him in the early days—never letting him be the big spoon when they cuddle, and even now is always half reluctant to let Cas rim him. He’s shoved his issues so deep down and out of his mind that he doesn’t even realize he has them, but has them he does and he simply will never be able to bring himself to allow Cas to top him because of it.
> 
> This fic is the one where those issues come to the fore. Nobody, not even Dean, realizes that what happens here all relates back to the time in Hell, and that all of this is him trying to cope with it. There are many of the same themes as in "Love Bites," and Dean’s thoughts and actions are a trifle violent—not to mention the fact that he is, once again, taking things out on Cas. But at least there aren’t any non-consensual spankings, and it ends a bit more hopefully.
> 
> Mervin

_May 2027_

Muted and surreal.

That’s how it all was right now. Dean didn’t care—all he cared about were the _sensations_. He could _feel_ , and he loved it. He was so hot—and wound up so tight…

Cas’s hands stroked down his shoulders and his fingertips brushed his shoulder blades, and Dean shivered when his hot breath preceded his mouth on his spine, licking his slick skin. Then Cas pressed harder, _deeper_ , and Dean made a guttural sound, his fingers flexing against the hard surface beneath him. Cas had his other arm, pulling it back, and it almost hurt but not quite. He tried to say something, but he couldn’t speak, not with his face pressed against the floor—or whatever it was—so he just thought it: _Fuck, Cas—yes—_ fuck _—_

He felt a hand curling around his throat, squeezing and Cas’s panting was suddenly in his ear, and he was so hot and heavy on top of him, bearing down on him, crushing him—he couldn’t breathe but he didn’t care—it felt _good_ —so good—he wanted to scream when Cas’s teeth sank into his shoulder, sharp and painful—and he was so _close_ —

The shrill screech of an alarm clock nearly sent Dean leaping out of bed and through the window. Instead, he just shot up, his heart jumping into his throat and his eyes popping open as his fingers instinctively curled around the handle of a knife that wasn’t there and so he just wound up flailing at nothing. By the time he wildly glanced over to find the source of the sound, Cas had already fumbled over and turned it off.

Oh. Of course. It was Cas’s phone alarm—he insisted on one that was basically an ear-drill. Cas never wanted to risk oversleeping.

The shock abruptly wore off and Dean just sat there, staring stupidly at Cas for a second, watching him curl a little into himself over there in his bed, sleepiness hitting him again. Slowly, the facts started trickling back in.

In a motel. With Cas. Alone—right. They were on their way to a hunt over in Tucson. Didn’t matter that it was warm in Sioux Falls—it was warmer in Arizona, so Cas had all but demanded to go. Any time somebody said there was a possible case in Arizona or New Mexico, Cas wanted to run down there and soak up the sun. So here they were—stopped off in Denver, Colorado, ‘cause they’d gotten a late start yesterday. Dean had demanded they leave early so they could hit Tucson for dinner. 

And Cas was over there—over in his own bed. They didn’t share sheets when they were on the job.

And then the last thing hit him—the reason why he was so confused when he saw Cas over there across the room curled up under his own blankets in the first place. Because Dean was hot, and he was sweaty, and his dick was rock-hard.

Oh. Dream. Wet dream. About Cas.

About Cas—and he—

The residual horniness vanished from his stomach so fast it felt like somebody had punched him.

He had a wet dream. About Cas. And they’d been fucking.

That wasn’t the bad part. He’d had wet dreams about Cas before. Cas had _made him_ have a sex dream before, with his little “let’s blow Dean in his sleep” prank last year. Dean didn’t freak out about those anymore (unless they happened when he was sharing a motel room with his brother). The bad part was that they had been fucking in his dream.

That _Cas_ had been fucking—

He couldn’t even think it. He refused. He would not— _could_ not—

Dean suddenly became aware that Cas was looking at him. “Good morning, Dean,” he rasped softly, and Dean barely managed to resist the urge to defensively pull the covers up over his chest so Cas couldn’t look at him anymore. But he couldn’t do anything to stop his face from suddenly flaming, his fingers convulsing in the sheets, and he was grateful for the darkness.

Cas didn’t say anything else, and instead just pushed the covers off and swung himself up out of bed—affording Dean a nice look at his naked ass and dick swinging in the wind.

Dean jerked his head to the side and quickly went to staring at the blanket, his hands squeezing into fists as he struggled to get himself under control because he still felt sick—felt—felt fucking _violated_ —

He wanted to get away from Cas. He wanted to send Cas right back to Sioux Falls and then drive around and find some strip joint and just live there for a few weeks. He wanted to forget that had ever happened. He wanted to do _anything_ to get that out of his head—get _all of it_ out of his head, because it wasn’t just an _image_ or a _thought_ , no, he could still— _feel_ , and he’d been so fucking _hard_ and had been fucking _begging for it_ in the dream—begging for Cas to hold him down and—

When the door to the bathroom shut, Dean jumped. His arms were trembling, he was squeezing the blankets so hard, and he forced his fingers to uncurl.

He couldn’t send Cas back. They’d just left. That’d look really bad. They’d want to know all about about whatever had happened on this trip to make him send Cas home out of nowhere, he knew it. None of their fucking _business_. That, and to take Cas home would mean he’d have to—see Sam and Bobby, too. And he could not do that. Could not— _would not_ face them after—after having—

Fuck. He didn’t even have time to try and get under control. They had to leave as soon as they were done showering. Then they’d both be in the car together for over ten hours.

Sucking in a deep breath, he squeezed his eyes shut. Fine. He’d go on with the hunt. They both would. They’d get it over with and then they’d go home and he’d ditch Cas and then he could drag Sam out again as quickly as possible and they could stay gone for…however long it took.

He could do that.

He _would_ do that.

* * *

Ignoring Cas was easier said than done. Having him _right there_ the whole time…he’d refused to talk to him and played his music too loud, but he didn’t fucking care. Cas had noticed, of course, and Dean knew he was getting sulky and pouty about it. Well, he could fucking _deal_. He wasn’t the one who’d had a dream about taking it right up the ass.

 _Even if he had, he wouldn’t care_ , Dean’s mind had sneered at him when he’d been grumbling to himself about it. _He’s had it_ done _. Idiot._

He’d ignored that snide mental remark, just like he’d have ignored Sam if he was here. He could make dumbass comments in his head all he wanted, thank you. He’d just been fucking _traumatized_.

Cas had been the one to go check them in, because Dean made him do it. Dean just didn’t feel ready to ask for one room for them right now. Cas had done it, of course, looking mopey the whole way, and that had made Dean scowl. What right did he have to be like that? ‘Specially when he was goin’ around and makin’ Dean think of all this gay shit— _that_ gay shit.

Dean glanced up when Cas waved him over to their room—wasn’t too far from the manager’s office. He drove the car on down there, parking in the open spot in front of Room 113 where Cas was opening it up. Then he swung out of the car and wordlessly got his bags out of the trunk and let Cas get his own, refusing to look at that fucking angel the whole time.

That stupid _fucking_ angel. Of all the shit Dean had ever fantasized about, thought about, dreamed about, or even _considered_ when it came to Cas, that was one that would never, _ever_ happen because—because it _wouldn’t_. He had a _list_ of reasons why it wasn’t gonna happen, the number one reason being because he _wasn’t fucking gay_. Number two was because he sure as _fuck_ wasn’t Cas’s bitch, and some random dream wasn’t gonna convince him that it’d be great. Just remembering it now was making him feel sick again and making his skin crawl—that just made him feel _dirty_!

The sound of the door shutting and locking finally made him look up from where he was fiddling with the straps on the bag he’d thrown angrily on his bed. There was Cas, locking up, and then he sullenly looked over at Dean. “Where would you like to go for dinner?” he asked pitifully.

Dean just glared at him for a few seconds, standing there in his long-sleeved shirt and jacket, his ratty black jeans, with that goddamn sulky look on his face. Having a full-on pout because Dean wasn’t just farting rainbows and acting like there was _nothing_ at all wrong with the world even though _there so was_ right now and its name was _Cas_.

 _I am not your bitch_ , he thought fiercely, something exploding deep in his gut. _I am_ not _your bitch._

You’re _the bitch!_

Cas’s eyes went wide when Dean suddenly charged him, but Dean did not give him a chance to recover from any kind of shock or to even figure out what was going on because he didn’t deserve it. He slammed him back against the door and threw himself at him, grabbing a handful of his hair and kissing him, biting down on his lip when he did and making Cas gasp loudly. Dean thought he tasted blood but didn’t know who it belonged to—and didn’t care. He humped up against him, grinding Cas against the door and making him thump his head against the door when he kissed him again, and he could feel Cas grabbing at him and trying to thrust back, but that _so_ wasn’t happening, _not fucking today_. He reached up and grabbed him by the upper arms, pushing him backwards again and growling deep in his throat before yanking him away from the door and dragging him with him over to his bed.

He shoved his bag out of the way as he threw Cas down, snarling, “Get over here,” as he did. He kept one hand on him as he all but ripped open the front pocket on his bag, giving Cas a rough shake when he tried to crawl over and grab him, probably to pull him down on the bed or some shit. _Fuck no._ He wasn’t doin’ that—they were doin’ what _Dean_ wanted, because _he_ said what they did and didn’t do around here. And what Dean didn’t do was let Cas pull him down on the bed so he could fondle him.

“Unzip your pants,” Dean growled at Cas, quickly finding the lube and a condom. He watched as Cas quickly complied, his eyes still huge as he stared at the objects in Dean’s hand like they were some kind of priceless treasure. He was a bit fumbly and at an awkward angle because Dean still had him by one arm, but he eventually got his jeans undone. Dean didn’t wait around for anything else. He jerked him back up to his knees and got him turned around how he wanted him before forcing him right back down on all fours, then he seized Cas’s hips and yanked him to the edge of the bed, right up against him—there. _This_ was how it was done—the way _Dean_ said.

Pulling Cas’s pants down and pushing them down around his thighs was no problem, which left him free to finally undo his own jeans. He was only half-hard, but he’d fix that. He was fixing it right now, rhythmically bumping Cas’s ass with his hips, rubbing his cock right between his cheeks as he unwrapped the condom. Cas was bumping back, and Dean couldn’t help that they felt like _impatient_ bumps, and that just annoyed him. Once he got the condom unwrapped, he brought his hand down with a sharp _smack_ right on his hip, grabbing him tightly to hold him still.

His dick was wrapped up in short order and then he was uncapping the lube, squeezing out enough right where he needed it on Cas’s asshole, and then he slid his middle finger up Cas’s ass for a nice “fuck you”.

Cas shivered and sighed rapturously, and then he moaned when Dean just started finger-fucking him like there was no tomorrow—there wouldn’t be any slow bullshit this time around because this wasn’t _about_ that. This was about righting the most horrible wrong _ever_. He didn’t bother working up to three fingers this time—two would do just fine. He picked up the lube and gave his own cock a little shot before reaching down and greasing himself up, and then he just lined up and pushed inside, keeping it slow but not stopping, sliding his cock in Cas’s ass until he was all the way in.

He stopped when his hips were pressed up against Cas’s butt, his hands gripping Cas’s narrow hips tightly and holding him still while Dean relished that tight heat—and most of all enjoying how it was _Cas_ bent over in front of him, taking it up the ass—like a _bitch_. Cas was trembling, his breath already coming in short pants, and Dean gave him a fiery glare when he glanced back at him over his shoulder, looking all _coy_ and shit. Fuck that—Dean gave him a short, sharp thrust and all of the air left Cas’s lungs in an explosive little gasp and his head fell forward again.

“Takin’ it like a bitch,” Dean suddenly growled. “That’s what you’re doin’.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Cas breathed, pushing backwards against Dean. “Yes, I—”

His words were cut off when Dean thrust hard again, making him cry out and grasp at the blankets. “Shut up,” Dean said bluntly. “Don’t you talk. You just take it—you take what I give you. You just be quiet and let me _fuck you_.”

Dean paused, waiting to see if Cas was gonna try and find a loophole or some shit like he loved doing, but Cas didn’t talk again. He just sat there on all fours, and Dean grunted when suddenly he just _squeezed_ him, and Dean knew precisely what he was doing—he _always_ did that when he was tryin’ to make Dean move. Make him fuck him.

Oh, he’d fuck him all right.

He pulled back about halfway and pushed back in—not hard, like the last two, but just seein’ how Cas was doing. Fine so far. Good—meant he could get to the best part of this all the sooner. He settled right into a nice, steady pace, in and out, keeping a very firm grip on Cas’s hips the whole time. He wasn’t concentrating on how it felt—though it felt frickin’ awesome, as it always did. No, he mostly just _watched_ —he wanted to see this. He wanted to watch how he was fucking Cas, how he had Cas on his hands and knees right in front of him, all bent over and wheezing, and was doin’ him like a bitch. He was making Cas _his_ bitch—like he _always_ did, and like he always _would_.

Abruptly, Dean slid his hands higher, up Cas’s back and to his shoulders. He dug his fingers in there, thrusting hard and deep, and Cas let out a little wail, clawing at the blankets. Dean could tell he wanted to go down to his elbows, but if he did that Dean couldn’t hold onto him where he was—and he didn’t wanna do that. No, he wanted to do what he set out to do now.

“ _You_ are _my_ bitch, Cas,” he snarled, and Cas didn’t do anything but make strangled happy noises when Dean just started fucking him— _really_ fucking him this time, using the grip he had on his shoulders and neck to pull him backwards and _really_ drive his dick in deep with every hard thrust forward.

The only sounds going on were Cas struggling not to be too loud and the slap of flesh against flesh. For a second, Dean wondered why Cas was trying to be so quiet, and was about to get pissed about it because was he trying to pretend Dean _wasn’t_ blowing his mind or something? Then he remembered the order he’d given him to shut up and felt vindictively pleased that Cas took it to such extremes—and enjoyed every time he made him violate the order by thrusting at just the right angle to hit the magic spot, getting a whimper or a moan or a strangled cry for his efforts.

It didn’t take long for Dean to get to where he wanted to be—hot, frantic, and wanting to come, just blow his load right in Cas’s ass where he deserved it. He’d moved his hands back to Cas’s hips and was just _pounding_ him, and Cas was doing everything in his power not to just scream and Dean loved it. His head was spinning, and before he could think better of it he brought the palm of his hand down right on Cas’s ass, slapping him hard, and Cas yelped before letting out a noise that was almost a sob when Dean thrust forward right after. “Jerk it,” Dean panted. “You grab your cock now and jerk off—only way you’re gonna come, so _do it_ , Castiel.”

Cas went down to one elbow, unable to support himself with one arm, and Dean saw him reach down under himself where he couldn’t see, but he saw his arm—saw it moving, and _yes_ , Cas was jacking himself—Jesus, he never did that on his own, and for some reason seeing him do it like this turned Dean on something fierce. But he couldn’t lose focus—not when he was so close. He squeezed Cas’s hips again and picked up the pace as best he could without losing it, and Cas’s cries were spiraling upwards, Dean’s order for silence forgotten. He was close, and he knew Cas was, too, so he just kept at it, kept _fucking_ him like the little bitch he was—he was _Dean’s_ bitch, goddammit—

Cas suddenly shrieked like a girl and his body spasmed wildly, his free hand clawing frantically at the blankets, and Dean knew what that meant so he just looked down and _watched_ , watched his cock pounding Cas’s tight little ass, and he reached back and spread his cheeks so he could _really_ see, oh, fuck, that did it—

He seized Cas’s hips in a punishing grip and thrust forward _hard_ , shoving his cock all the way in and grit his teeth against the howl that wanted to burst out of him, instead just grunting thickly as his balls released their load, and he was coming, coming right in Cas’s ass, ‘cause he had bent him over and had fucked him fuck _yes yes yes_ —

Only when he noticed that his fingers were digging deep into Cas’s flesh did he let him go—Jesus, he hoped those wouldn’t bruise. He rested his hands on Cas’s back, panting hoarsely and looking down at Cas, who had his face mashed against the bedspread and was wheezing pathetically. Dean had a feeling that if he just pulled out and walked off, Cas wouldn’t move from his position at all and just sit there, face in the bed and ass in the air, pants down around his knees. Heh.

Didn’t matter that it made him shudder, too—he couldn’t resist just one more little thrust while his prick was still half-hard in Cas’s ass, making him whimper.

Dean was _not_ a bitch.

* * *

Dean was pissed.

He’d thought he’d fixed things and put everything right back in its proper order…last night. But no, it seemed like the entire _world_ was bound and determined to give him no justice. He didn’t care that the cops had been real pleasant this time around, nor did he care that his initial thought back in South Dakota that this looked like a witch had all but been confirmed once they got a good look at the bodies and the case files—then got _definitely_ confirmed when they found a hexbag inside Victim #2’s car.

No, no, it was all ruined _by_ those stupid pleasant cops. All deferential and shit.

To Cas.

Dean had seen it—he wasn’t stupid. He’d seen the way they’d all looked immediately at _Cas_ when they walked in, who cared that Dean was the one in front. They’d directed their questions at Cas, handed him the folders, looked at him first when they offered to take ‘em down to the morgue. Always Cas first, Dean second. Didn’t matter that Dean did all the talkin’, was always the one who took the lead—they all just assumed _Cas_ was in charge. What—was it ‘cause Cas looked older or talked all flat and dry or some shit?

His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he glared at the road in front of him. Cas was not in charge. Ever. They didn’t _put_ him in charge because he wasn’t made for it—he was a suck leader. Everybody knew it. He fucked things up every time.

That was unnecessarily nasty, but Dean really didn’t care right now—not like he was sayin’ it to Cas’s face or something. Cas was just sitting over on his side, staring out the window, very calm about things. Dean hated it when Cas was serene while he himself wasn’t—it just made him look _smug_ , and that made Cas a bitch.

‘Cause he _was_. Both ways. Dammit.

The silence in the car continued all the way to the motel, and by the time they got there, Dean’s brooding over what had happened at the station had turned into something else—he wasn’t entirely sure what, but he was fidgety and agitated, whatever it was. It only got worse every time he glanced over and saw Cas, Mr. “I’m Large and In Charge, Ha Ha”. He could go to hell.

As they made their way into their room, he glared again at Cas as he tugged at his collar, loosening his tie a bit. Cas was _not_ in charge.

_Ever._

He’d grabbed the lube and another condom in two seconds and then he had Cas backed up against the wall by the couch, shrugging out of his suit jacket as best he could—a process made difficult by Cas immediately trying to grab at him once he recovered from the initial shock of Dean going for him. Once he was out of his jacket, he went for Cas’s belt, pressing Cas against the wall and nosing under his collar so he could bite down hard right where his neck met his shoulder, and he felt Cas’s hands convulse against his back as he moaned.

Dean kissed and licked and bit him long enough to get both of their pants undone and both of them hard—then he grabbed Cas and spun him around, redirecting him towards the couch and making him bend right over it. Cas sighed as Dean fingered him, and then groaned happily when Dean pushed his cock inside of him. It was all just fuckin’ _great_ for him—as well it should be. He could take it up the ass and _like it_ , because that’s how it was. Dean gave him a sharp thrust to remind him, and he let out a high-pitched yelp as a result that was half noise, half Dean’s name.

It wasn’t long at all until Dean was fuckin’ him in earnest, enjoying the way Cas was bent over in front of him like this, lovin’ how it felt to be balls-deep in him. Occasionally, he’d just stop cold, savor Cas’s little whine of protest, and then slowly pull back and then just thrust in hard, making Cas sob out a lovely little sound that Dean could definitely get used to.

“You’re a bitch,” Dean hissed. He thrust again. “ _My_ bitch.”

“ _Your_ bitch,” Cas gasped in agreement. “Please fuck me.”

 _Don’t you_ ever _give me orders._

But he did it anyway, listening to Cas shriek as he did.

‘Cause he deserved it. The bitch.

* * *

Bobby’s info about what went into that hexbag had turned up some good news for a change—it didn’t look like they were dealing with any kind of old school witch. It was all modern and fairly low-level—some newbie crazy and murderous enough to take up the craft to kill people. That meant no heavy-duty spells to kill ‘em. All they had to do now was figure out what linked the victims, and once they got that figured out, they would probably have their culprit in a hurry.

But that was for tomorrow. It was late, there hadn’t been another murder since they’d gotten to town, he and Cas had come back to the motel, and right now, Cas was stripped naked and lying on his back, hanging his head off the edge of the bed and sucking Dean’s cock.

Dean wasn’t entirely sure how they wound up like this, but he wasn’t complaining. One minute they’d just been sitting in their respective beds, Cas reading a magazine and Dean flipping through channels, the next Dean had jumped right into Cas’s bed and torn his clothes off. Well, he kind of knew how he got there—he’d not had the case to occupy his mind. They were having their little downtime, which left him free to think.

Free to think about that fucking _dream_ again.

Yeah—that’d been about the time he’d demanded Cas get naked and suck his cock.

Rally, he wasn’t sure why they hadn’t done this position before. Wasn’t like he didn’t know it existed or something. And it was a good one—with Cas tilted like this, it made it easier for Cas to take him deep. Made it easier for Dean to _make_ him take it deep, slowly sliding his prick in and out of Cas’s mouth, shivering when Cas moaned around him. He reached down and held him steady, his fingers curled around Cas’s neck as he fucked his throat, his balls slapping against Cas’s face, the muscles in his throat flexing and working around his cock. God, that felt good—so _fucking_ good…

Dean’s spine went rigid when Cas’s hands suddenly slid up the back of his thighs and went for his ass.

He was probably just grabbing him for leverage—he did it all the time—but Dean didn’t care. _No. Not fucking today!_

Dean pulled back fast, reaching back and grabbing Cas’s wrists, yanking them _off_ of his butt. Cas just panted, staring up at him with that dazed, adoring look on his face, and Dean scowled at him in return. He was gonna pay for grabbing him back there. _So_ gonna pay for that.

He made a small mental note to buy more lube next time he was by himself and near a sex shop, ‘cause they were gonna need more—he didn’t care it was the third time he was doin’ this, because goddammit, he was gonna keep doing it until everybody involved _knew_ who was in charge. ‘Sides, Cas was all but squealing in glee when he saw Dean going for _another_ condom, like he couldn’t believe his luck.

He had Cas all but screamin’ this time. Cas was tearin’ up the bedspread, howlin’ and beggin’ for it harder as Dean fucked him and Dean did it because _he_ wanted it harder, not because Cas told him to. He gave it to him, all right, right up the ass—and everybody knew _why_.

Dean snarled expletives, pounding Cas’s ass as he clawed at his hips, and then he stopped dead, keeping his cock buried where it was. Cas sucked in a huge breath, obviously struggling, but Dean just leaned over him, pressing his chest up against Cas’s back and reaching around to grab Cas’s cock.

“You’re a bitch,” Dean panted, squeezing him tightly.

“Yes,” Cas squeaked as Dean bit him on the shoulder.

“You say it—you say you’re a bitch.”

“I’m—I’m a bitch, Dean!”

“You are _my_ —” Hard thrust. “—bitch.”

“Yes— _yes!_ ”

“Say it.” Dean started jerking him hard and fast and thrust again, deep as he could go. “Say you’re my bitch—you say it, dammit!”

“ _I’m your bitch!_ ” Cas wailed—didn’t matter the last part was kind of lost as Cas just shrieked like crazy, coming all over Dean’s fingers, and that’s when Dean let him go again and sat back up, seizing his hips and chasing Cas into that sunset, going right back to that punishing rhythm, fucking him hard until light exploded behind his eyelids and he couldn’t do anything but yell the word “fuck” at the ceiling over and over again.

Cas apparently couldn’t support himself when it was all done and just kind of oozed down from all fours onto his stomach onto the bed, gasping for air, and Dean grudgingly let his own shaky knees give out and sagged down next to him in bed, trembling when his cock slipped out of him. Dean kept his eyes shut, breathing easier than Cas was.

“Dean…” Cas whispered, his fingers curling around Dean’s hand—the one still resting on his hip.

Didn’t have any right soundin’ so soppy—not after what they just did.

Dean squeezed back anyway.

Hmph.

* * *

Ding dong, the witch was dead.

Didn’t make Dean feel any better.

It’d been a local bookstore owner, of all things. But the fact was that all of the folks dying had been somehow connected to some kind of deal to get a bigger, chain-type of bookstore to move in just down the street that probably would’ve put her right out of business. She was far enough away from the Barnes & Noble in town, but apparently having another one nearby was too much for her to handle and she decided some black magic would help keep them out. Dean didn’t care about the war between small business and big boxes—all he cared about was putting down a witch who was killin’ people.

Unfortunately, she was just like every other monster out there—one that didn’t think coming quietly was a good option, and she’d been waiting for them. She’d gotten the drop on ‘em and sent Cas flying backwards into a bookshelf, and then had turned on Dean and started some force-choking on him that had made him start coughing blood. But not long enough to do any damage—because _somebody_ didn’t get the memo that Dean apparently owned an angel that turned into a psychotic death machine when he felt Dean was being threatened.

She’d whirled around and he’d looked up when they heard the books fly everywhere, and then Cas was on her. She’d blocked his first swipe, but she was no match for Cas— _nobody_ was a match for Cas when he had a knife in his hand, and Dean had stared as Cas hadn’t even blinked when a gout of blood splattered across his front and face when he swung his blade and sliced her throat wide open.

And that had been that.

Dean had refused any offers of help when he staggered to his feet, and just roughly wiped his mouth and chin free of blood before grunting that they had to get out of there—dropping the beloved bookstore owner wasn’t gonna earn them any good favor with the locals. Cas had gone along with it, and they’d skedaddled with no problems, getting back to the motel with no problems to get their stuff and zip over across town to lay low. Dean expected this’d be on the news for a bit while they searched for her murderers, so they’d just leave Tucson entirely nice and easy tomorrow morning and take the scenic way home just to let the Mark do its job.

That’d left him and Cas in their new motel room at ten o’clock with nothing to do. Hadn’t taken Dean long to decide what _he_ wanted to do—not after having to endure _that_ humiliation. After having to just lay there and let some witch beat him up and have Cas come fucking _rescue_ him, he knew _exactly_ what he was gonna do.

He was gonna do _Cas_.

Cas hadn’t looked at all surprised or alarmed this time when Dean grabbed him; oh, his body had been ready, all right. It’d all gone exactly how Dean wanted it—they stripped off at _Dean’s_ pace, Dean _let_ Cas suck him off and in the way _he_ wanted: Cas on all fours on the bed, Dean on his knees in front of him, so he could set the pace like he wanted and so Cas couldn’t try and touch or lick somewhere Dean didn’t want him to. And he didn’t see a damn thing wrong with throwin’ Cas down on the bed when he was through with that and getting him face-down and swingin’ his leg over, rubbing his cock right between Cas’s asscheeks as he snapped open the bottle of heated lube. Yeah, this was _so_ happening. Only complaint he had was no condom—‘cause they’d run out.

Fuck it—they’d gone bare before. He’d do it again.

Cas needed barely any fingering—he’d been _seriously_ well-fucked on this trip. Dean did it anyway, though, loving the way Cas writhed against the bed. But that could only entertain him for so long, and soon he was lining up, spreading Cas a little wider, and he hissed through his teeth as he pushed inside, and it was so fucking _hot_ —no rubber and the heated lube was making this fucking _amazing_ —

Cas made a high-pitched noise as Dean abruptly started thrusting hard with no build-up at all, falling forward and slamming his hands against the bed near Cas’s shoulders. He wasn’t waiting—not this time, not when his stupid fucking brain had suddenly whispered that to him—reminded him that this was how it’d been when he’d _dreamed_ —

 _No!_ he snarled mentally in response. _Fuck that—this is how it’s_ supposed _to be!_ He reached up and had Cas by the neck, pushing his face into the pillow and muffling his moans and squeals. Cas just took it, letting Dean ride him like no tomorrow. Dean could occasionally make out words—Cas saying his name, garbled encouragements here and there, but with his face in the pillow, it was indistinct—and Dean didn’t want to hear it right now. He just wanted to fuck him—fuck him hard, like he deserved, because this was how it was supposed to _be_. _Cas_ was supposed to be under _him_ , face-down, taking what _Dean_ gave _him_ —

Cas let out a wail when Dean mashed him into the mattress, thrusting hard and fast and biting down on his shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut—fuck fuck _fuck_ , though it was unbearable and almost excruciating it felt so good he kept on thrusting through his orgasm, coming deep in Cas’s ass fuck _yes made you_ my _bitch_ —

He absolutely refused to let his brain feel mushy. There was one more thing to do, and it had to be done now. So, despite his body protesting and already feeling loose sleepiness trying to creep up on him after he was done, he quickly pulled out and scooted backwards, wobbling a little on the edge of the bed where he landed. He grabbed Cas’s hips and yanked him up, deliberately keeping him down on his elbows—all he wanted was his ass in the air, dammit.

“Cas,” he growled, slipping two fingers inside his stretched asshole and reaching around to grab his stiff prick with his free hand, making Cas gasp. “You say it. You say what you said last time.”

“I’m your bitch,” he immediately breathed, his forehead touching the blanket.

“Fuck yes, you are. _You_ are _my_ bitch. Say it again!”

“ _I’m your bitch, Dean._ ”

“And you _like it_ when I fuck you—you like it when I fuck your ass,” he continued, jerking him hard and finger-fucking him.

“I _love it_ when you fuck my ass, Dean,” Cas moaned in a shaky voice, trembling.

“Why? ‘Cause you’re my bitch?”

“ _Yes!_ ” he choked out.

“Come on, put it together, bitch—why do you like it when I fuck your ass?” Dean demanded, pushing in deep and making Cas’s whole body jerk.

“I lo— _love_ it when you fuck my ass b-because I’m your bitch!”

And that left Cas sobbing into the blanket and thrashing in Dean’s grip as he came, Dean pushing his fingers in deep and pressing right where Cas liked it.

Cas flopped down on his side when he was done, and Dean surveyed his work while rocked back on his knees. Dean rubbed Cas’s spunk between his fingers, and then he leaned down right by Cas, who was still managing to look dazed and gooey despite being utterly wiped out.

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, raising his hand and pressing it against Cas’s lips. “My bitch.”

Cas obediently opened up and let Dean slide one come-covered finger in his mouth and, right on cue, sucked and licked it clean, all while looking up at Dean with the most obnoxiously-adoring expression on his face, his eyes soft and sleepy and blue.

_Man, fuck you._

“Go clean off,” Dean grunted, pulling away and getting up as well—he needed it, too. He didn’t wait for Cas to collect his brains and put ‘em back in his head, instead going straight for the sink. Jesus, he was a mess.

While he was scrubbing his hands a second time, Cas finally went tottering unsteadily by him and into the bathroom—and Dean couldn’t miss the very, very familiar achy way he was walking.

Good. So there.

* * *

A little sunlight was filtering in through a tiny crack in the drapes drawn over the window, throwing a thin strip of light into the room. It was kind of nice—just that bit of light available. Made the room look…warm. And comfortable.

Cas was panting softly in Dean’s ear, all hot and heavy on top of him, his arms still curled underneath Dean as he clung. Dean just stroked up and down his back, unconsciously sticking to the smooth side and avoiding the rough one, his other hand still in Cas’s hair. He tilted his head enough to press a soft kiss against Cas’s temple, savoring the warm feeling in his chest and stomach, and wondered when the jizz between his thighs and on his stomach would reach the point where it was intolerable and he’d finally have to boot Cas off of him and hustle him into the shower so they could get ready to leave. Had a long drive ahead of them, and they really did need to get a move on early, ‘cause by now they’d probably found the ex-witch—probably hadn’t been a good idea to have a morning tumble.

But Dean would admit it—after so many rounds of just straight-up _fucking_ , it was…actually nice to just lay back and let Cas have a rut on him after some heavy-duty making out. Cas had certainly enjoyed it. Yeah. This was good. This was fine. Morning make-out, morning tumble, morning cuddle-slash-cling. They could do that.

So long as Cas never forgot who was in charge around here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At any rate, now I hope that those of you who have in earlier fics wished Dean would just hurry up can go gay rather than taking so long to get their relationship moving and having all of his previous internalized homophobia and macho heterosexual freak-outs can perhaps understand and sympathize with his situation a little better—because at times during all that slow build, these issues were very much present for him, and were present in our minds when we wrote him that way. Similarly, this is the reason why the thought of Dean bottoming has been so completely absent from the fics thus far, and even why even the possibility of Cas bottoming took so long to come up. Dean just has severe issues with the idea. We wouldn't have broached it at all if it wasn't for the fact that so many people had asked about it, and when we tried to explore the possibility with Dean's character and the world as we wrote it, this is what happened.
> 
> However! While we will never have Dean let Cas top, we do, in fact, let him grow in this particular respect and show how much he does trust and love Cas. But without seeing just how bad it is/was for Dean first, we didn't think that it would be quite as satisfying to see him making that sort of progress. But rest assured that in the next part of this one and in later fics, he will be making more strides in that “area” of their relationship, and hopefully, we can reach a happy medium--and, since these are just supposed to be smut, where those of you who really wanted to see Dean get topped can enjoy something that’s an acceptable substitution.
> 
> So marks the end of the dark times in the porny continuations of “The Writing on the Wall”. From here on out, things stay on a fairly even keel, and hopefully the resolution to this fic will make things better for everyone. And if not, you can just treat this one like "Love Bites:" another AU dark fetish piece that you can cheerfully ignore and not count as part of the verse.


	2. No One Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After sixteen years, Dean finally lets Cas in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. The conclusion to “No One Like you” and the start of something very new for Dean and Castiel.
> 
> While “[You Give Love a Bad Name](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1360093)” is separate from this piece, they all actually tie into one another to make this particular moment important and a _massive_ step for Dean. I will explain in more detail at the end, but I hope that this progression is satisfying and packs the amount of character growth and importance that I want it to have.
> 
> Mervin

_February 2028_

Dean really had no problems taking two days to get back to South Dakota, and he had never loved making it two days more than now, late at night, his eyes hot and heavy from driving all the way from Ocala, Florida, after taking care of a cursed book that was actually _burning out_ eyes. He hated to admit it, but driving all day was becoming more and more _tiresome_ lately. Wasn’t gonna stop him from blaming their current stop on Cas, though, who was a drama queen when it came to driving all day and always had been. Was more convenient—‘sides, he’d been blaming that on him for years already.

Well, thirteen hours was still not a bad stretch. They had another ten ahead of them, and he figured stopping in Van Buren, Missouri, was decent. They’d been to Van Buren before in their travels—Dean had used it as a stop on a job with Cas once already, actually, because it had been near a national park and Cas had conned him into passing through so he could commune with nature or whatever it was he did whenever they visited outdoorsy crap like that. He’d looked pleased when Dean had said they were gonna bed down in Van Buren this time around too, though it was understood that they would not be touring—food and sleep only.

Well, food had been had—just some Chinese takeout from a little joint open late. It’d been decent, and that led him to now—tiredly swinging open the door to their motel to see the welcome sight of two beds and a tiny sofa, all of them screaming “pick me!” to him as he flicked on the light. After a little deliberation, he just went for the couch; if he laid down on the bed, he’d probably just wind up falling asleep there, clothes and all, and he didn’t want to do that..

Setting his bag on one of the beds, he stumped over and fell back against the couch with a sigh—not too shabby. More comfortable than the shitty one upstairs at Bobby’s, at any rate. He stretched out his legs, his joints creaking, and sighed contentedly with his eyes closed as he listened to Cas quietly shutting and locking the door for him.

“What time would you like to be on the road tomorrow, Dean?”

Dean opened his eyes again at the sound of Cas’s voice. He shrugged, thinking a little. “Dunno—we got another nine, ten hours ahead of us. I’d say by eight or nine—we’ll need to get the curse box in storage ASAP, anyway, so don’t want to roll in too late for Bobby to take care of it. He’s picky about storing shit like that, you know that,” Dean answered.

“All right.”

Dean let his eyes drift shut as Cas made his way into the bathroom. This really was an easy hunt—worst part had been the drive, really. Cas’d wanted to go the minute he’d heard the case was in Florida—the angel always wanted to fly south for the winter. Dean had been leery at first—eye-burning sounded a bit too close to the kind of shit he’d expect from Cas’s few remaining feathered frat brothers. But after a few fake-Fed phone calls, Dean’d declared the job angel-free and had agreed to take him. They’d hit paydirt the instant they investigated the vics’ house. Turned out one of the residents was into rare books and had acquired one with a nasty hex on it. It’d burned his eyes out, and then done the same thing to one of his housemates. Cas had been looking at the bookshelves and noticed it, the cover in some bizarre Sanskrit or something that pretty well spelled out that it was cursed to anyone who could read it, so they’d snapped on rubber gloves and taken care of it, hustling it into a hex box and ditching town quickly. One-day job—Dean liked that. Left more time for relaxing. And other things, of course. Other things being fucking Cas into the mattress back at the motel.

Dean couldn’t help but smirk to himself, tilting his head back against the couch. Man. He never, ever thought he’d get so… _into_ fucking Cas. No, they didn’t do it every time they fooled around, and only ever on trips away from Bobby’s, and not even on every one of those, but they did it way more often than he could’ve ever guessed he’d be comfortable with. But he was, and so sometimes they fucked. And Dean made Cas shriek like a girl pretty much every time they did it, which was awesome. Because _he_ was awesome.

And really, that was one more way he could blame Cas for their only managing 900 miles today—because Cas had had to sleep in this morning. They were supposed to leave by nine, but had instead gotten onto the road at ten-thirty because Dean had worn Cas out, apparently. _Dean_ had been tired, too, but you didn’t see him having to lounge around and catch up on beauty sleep. But he could forgive Cas in this case; being exhausted because of Dean Winchester was an acceptable excuse.

Dean heard the muffled sound of the toilet flushing, and then the door to the bathroom opened again. He didn’t look up, just listened to the splash of running water as Cas washed his hands, and then the familiar sounds of him fiddling around with a cup and his toothbrush started up. Dean supposed he should get up and get undressed and get into bed; it was past midnight by now, after all, and he was pretty sure he was in danger of just falling asleep where he was. But he didn’t feel like moving. Sitting on this couch was comfortable.

The water shut off, and he heard more messing around up at the sink; Cas was probably powdering his nose or something equally stupid. But eventually the noise stopped, and he heard the sound of Cas padding quietly over to him. He finally opened his heavy eyes when Cas’s footsteps on the carpet were right next to him, but he didn’t have much time to contemplate that because Cas just leaned right down, his hands bracing against the back of the couch as he kissed him, his tongue licking across Dean’s lower lip, and Dean grunted a little when Cas just climbed right on board, sliding into Dean’s lap with his knees sinking into the couch, grinding his butt against him as he did.

Dean supposed he should stop being at all surprised when Cas just decided it was time for Fun out of nowhere, because the guy just wanted it all the fucking time in motels. He should be even less surprised this time, seeing as Cas was definitely more awake than he was right now—he’d gotten a nap in the car somewhere in Georgia. But even after all this time, it still caught Dean off-guard on occasion.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t gonna go along with it, though.

Cas made a happy sound in the back of his throat as Dean lazily reached down with both hands and squeezed his ass, grinding him harder against him, doing his best to get both their engines going. He wriggled a bit, sinking lower against the couch, and Cas got his hands in Dean’s hair, tilting his head back and licking his way into his mouth. Cas wasn’t necessarily being slow about things, but he wasn’t insane and frantic and forceful, either—pretty decent starting-pace, Dean decided. But that shirt needed to go.

Couple seconds later, and Cas was tossing it away at Dean’s insistence, and Dean made an approving noise when Cas tugged Dean’s own upwards and off as well. Cas couldn’t grip Dean’s hair again, though, because Dean had skated his hands up to his back, pulling him forward and refusing to let Cas go back to tonguing him because all that exposed flesh was there and, well, Dean just had to lick it. So he was gonna, and he was gonna take his time about it. Cas wasn’t objecting, after all, shivering a little every time Dean scraped his teeth over a sensitive spot, his hands tight on the back of the couch.

Dean was getting hard, but he reckoned that Cas was already up because he was the one getting worked over at the moment. And because he was a horndog. So he flicked his tongue out one last time over Cas’s nipple before smirking up at him, dragging one hand around to the top of Cas’s jeans so he could open them up. Cas _hmmed_ his approval as Dean got the button undone before unzipping him, but before Dean could wrap his fingers around Cas’s cock through his shorts, Cas reached down between them and grabbed Dean’s wrist, pulling his arm away and then gripping his hand, pinning it up by Dean’s head as he pushed against him and kissed him. But he didn’t spend too much time holding Dean down, instead releasing his hand and grinding his butt against Dean one more time before he pushed away, surveying Dean briefly with an almost speculative look on his face.

Dean blinked up at him for a second, briefly considering if he should tell Cas not to get any ideas, but Cas started moving again, sliding backwards, nuzzling Dean’s neck for a moment and making him keep his head tilted back, and before he knew it Cas’s weight was gone from his lap because he was sinking to the floor, getting down on his knees and reaching for the button on Dean’s jeans.

Well. Cas certainly wasn’t wasting any time today in getting his fix—Dean figured it was because of last night. Dean had pretty much made Cas lie down and take it (‘cause for some reason, he’d just _wanted_ that ass), barely giving him any chance to suck him off, and if he didn’t get to give Dean a blowjob at least once on their hunting trips, he got weird. Because he was insane. However, Dean wasn’t gonna stop him. He didn’t even care that Cas was making him go first—if he changed his mind, he’d just stop him and pull him up and take care of him before letting Cas go back at it. It was late anyway—both of them were tired, which didn’t much lend itself to any really wild shenanigans, and honestly, of all the shit they did, right now a good blowjob just sounded the best.

And anyway, this was Cas’s speed too, wasn’t it? Only thing that could make him willingly put off his beauty sleep was getting to give Dean said blowjob.

Dean’s amusement at the thought took a backseat when Cas finally unzipped his jeans, and his hands sank into the couch cushions as he lifted his hips to help Cas out. Cas didn’t bother with formalities, getting his fingers hooked into Dean’s shorts as well as his jeans, pulling the whole mess all the way down around his ankles. Dean just watched, almost bemused, as Cas pushed his knees apart, sliding forward and in between them. Despite the fact that he was looking right at him, Dean still jumped when Cas grabbed him, no hesitation or sexy slowness about it, and started jerking his half-hard prick insistently. Dean vaguely wondered why Cas always waited until he was hard to start sucking him off, but he’d been doing it for years—why try to break him of the habit now? Plus, as much as it drove him crazy, he really did love all of the anticipation to that hot, sucking mouth.

Though Cas appeared to be doing his best to make sure the “drive him crazy” part was in full force tonight, wetting his lips with his tongue like that as he slowly pumped his fist, just blinking steadily up at him, his big blue eyes all shiny and, if Dean didn’t know any better, sneaky. But Dean did know better—Cas was an idiot—and knew it was just the angle. So he just concentrated on those tight strokes of his hand, enjoying the heat slowly unfurling in his middle, and reached down to stroke Cas’s hair, pushing his head forward just a little—wasn’t that he was impatient, but, well…dammit, his mouth was _right there_.

Well, that little nudge was apparently all he’d needed to do, because Cas shifted and then leaned forward, and Dean couldn’t help but tense up because here it came, he was gonna be in his mouth and it was gonna be so fucking awesome—only Cas stopped, barely an inch away from Dean’s cock, and Dean felt his fingers digging into his hip. Oh, that _bastard_ —Dean knew exactly what he was doing. He was _pinning_ him. And he got it confirmed when he saw Cas lips part and that tongue of his slip out, curling forward to press lightly right against the tip of Dean’s dick, but Dean couldn’t _move_. Cas lapped slowly, _way_ too slowly, and then, at the same infuriating pace, closed his lips around the head of Dean’s prick.

But he wasn’t sucking. Goddammit, _he wasn’t sucking_. He wasn’t even licking! No, he just had that tiny bit of Dean’s cock in his hot mouth, his eyes still on Dean, and Dean was about to try and make him do _something_ when he started moving, but barely—it was damn near agonizing, the way Cas was _slowly_ sliding Dean’s prick into his mouth, blinking up at him the whole time as he did. However, despite the slow pace, he wasn’t stopping—no, he kept going, all the way down, deep-throating him first thing, and only when he had all of Dean’s cock in his mouth did Dean let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Oh, thank God, he was sliding back, and _finally_ , there was that sucking pressure he wanted… _Fuck you, Cas._ Just ‘cause Dean wanted an easy BJ tonight didn’t mean he wanted a full, hour-long Mouth Marathon—it was past midnight and they had a lot of driving to do tomorrow. Just ‘cause he thrived on little sleep didn’t mean he made it a point to do it all the time.

Cas kept him still, not even letting Dean rock his hips against his motions. Now it was a slow, teasing pace, which was ridiculous, given how eager he’d been to do this. Dean supposed he shouldn’t complain, because it all felt awesome, but he was going to complain anyway— _he_ could drive Cas crazy all he wanted. The other way around was not allowed.

Well, just ‘cause he couldn’t move his hips didn’t mean he couldn’t do something with his hand—as such, he just kept stroking Cas’s hair, but continued to push insistently, subtly making him move a little faster. Cas didn’t obey as much as he wanted, but at least it wasn’t that snail’s pace like when he started—God, that was unbearable. He grunted when he felt Cas’s hand slide up between his thighs, gently massaging his balls as he sucked. Dean closed his eyes, just letting himself feel everything, from the way Cas’s head was moving under his hand to the way Cas was cupping his sack.

Shit, this was awesome. There was pretty much nothing he could think of that was better at the end of the day—getting a blowjob made everything great. He could admit it—Cas had sucked away quite a few bad days of his like this. Dean wasn’t sure if it was ‘cause Cas always did it so damn readily and _cheerfully_ , or if it was just all because he was so good. Probably both—a glance down at Cas showed that yep, he obviously couldn’t imagine anything better than what he was doing right now. Well, that was good—Dean couldn’t, either.

Cas came up for air while Dean was still watching him; he released Dean’s balls to just leisurely jerk him, his other hand disappearing from his view. For a second, Dean was confused—no way he was reaching down there to jerk himself while he sucked cock, he _never_ did that—but then he realized what Cas was up to when he felt him messing around with his jeans, getting to his shoes. Ah—he was gonna untie his boots. Probably because his jeans around his ankles were in the way. Dean thought that was a fine idea. Sure, he was gonna be butt-naked in front of Cas while Cas was still half-dressed, but so long as Cas kept sucking him off, it’d be all good. Dean would rectify the clothing imbalance when he felt like it.

Cas really didn’t have any business getting his double-knots undone that quick. Once both his boots were unlaced, Cas finally let go of his prick, reaching down and yanking both his shoes off at once before grabbing his jeans and shorts, somehow managing to peel his socks off in the process as well. Dean had to smirk again when Cas threw them aside, but all laughter vanished when Cas grabbed his hips, pulling him forward and all but hanging his ass off the couch now. Dean didn’t have any time to protest, though, because Cas was pushing his legs apart again and sliding between them. His hands were pressing against his inner thighs, spreading him wider, and Dean grunted when Cas’s palm was against his balls again, squeezing, right before his cock was right back in Cas’s mouth.

Now that was more like it—much quicker. And Cas no longer had him pinned down, so he could thrust up a little to meet him, just how he liked it. Granted, he couldn’t thrust _much_ , not with how Cas had him all at this weird angle, sunk down into the couch with his ass in the wind. But it was enough, and it was awesome. Cas kept squeezing his nuts every time he sucked on his upward strokes, and every time he got to the end, he’d swipe his tongue across the tip of his cock, making Dean twitch.

Because of the angle Cas was fondling his balls, Dean could feel him occasionally rub his thumb up behind them on his taint, and he couldn’t help but tense up a little whenever he did that, but…fuck, it felt kinda nice. And— _Goddammit, Cas!_ —it also felt kinda nice when he did _that_. Stuck his tongue all up in his dick while the pad of his thumb…rubbed up against his—fuck, where did Cas even get the _idea_ that he could touch his asshole like that? Dean certainly hadn’t given it to him. But idea or no, Cas been doing that lately—waiting ‘til he was in no position to protest and then sneaking little strokes and touches all around behind his balls like that. And it was driving him _insane_.

Dean let out a little huff of air when Cas’s mouth disappeared again, and he was pushing up on Dean’s thigh, hooking his arm up under it and forcing it up and almost over his shoulder. _What the hell, Cas_ , he thought to himself, almost disgruntled, but then his mouth was back on his cock, licking all up and down, and he didn’t much care anymore.

All he did was lick, though—he didn’t stick Dean’s cock back in his mouth, instead starting to lick and suck at his balls, which was fucking great. And Cas was _still_ pushing on his leg, what the fuck was he _doing_? He didn’t need to do that just to suck his nutsack, dammit!

But then Cas licked lower, and Dean suddenly knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

Dean couldn’t help but give a strangled little moan when Cas just went straight for his asshole with no preamble or build up or even his usual bit of dirty-talk asking. Nope, one minute he was sucking his balls and the next his tongue was right there on his ass, licking insistently. And there was no building up to that, either—he was already in full-force, no teasing, and Dean couldn’t stop shaking because Cas was eating him out and it felt so good because— _fuck_ , because Cas had had enough practice to _get_ good.

An undignified whimper escaped him when he felt Cas’s tongue push inside him, but he didn’t tongue-fuck him—he just did it once before going back to those teasing little flickers and his quick lapping, all while his fist worked Dean’s cock, tight and deliberate. Dean still had his fingers tight in Cas’s hair and he could feel the motions of his head, and he couldn’t help it—he looked down. Fuck, yes—there was Cas, looking back from between his legs as he pushed forward again with his tongue, and Dean jerked a little helplessly when he _did_ tongue-fuck him this time, in and out, _wiggling_ it a little every time he did—

“Oh, _fuck_ , Cas…” he groaned, unable to keep watching that, flopping his head back with his eyes squeezed shut. He felt Cas stop moving his hand, instead slipping down to grip tight right at the base of his cock, and then he left Dean’s ass to suck his balls for a bit before going right back to what he was doing before, somehow managing to be even more intense about it, making Dean wheeze pathetically—fucking _Christ_ , why had Dean let him do this so many times so that he could get this good?!

It was already getting to the point where Dean was about ready to tell Cas that he couldn’t take this anymore because this was way, way too much for him tonight, but Cas seemed to know all on his own. Dean released the breath he’d been holding when his mouth vanished from his ass and he felt his cock sliding into that wet heat instead. Yes, this was much safer and more familiar territory. He could take this. He could take Cas’s head moving up and down under his hand, he could take Cas humming around his prick, he could take Cas’s tongue getting all up in his dick—that was fine. Getting all up in his ass was different.

 _Fuck!_ No sooner had he stopped thinking that when Cas gripped his balls again, just like he had before, and there was his thumb, sliding between his asscheeks and rubbing right there against his asshole, only this time as it rubbed gently it was all _slick_ there, and it made the heat in his belly throb and get hotter, which wasn’t _fair_. That felt _good_ , but dammit, that—there was no way that was okay! If his brain wasn’t so messed up right now he would’ve told him to cut it out, so there.

Dean opened his eyes when he felt Cas’s mouth leave his cock, and except for the thumb on his ass, he stopped moving. Dean looked down again, and Cas was still staring at him, one of Dean’s legs up over his shoulder, and he was looking…oh, shit, he was looking _inquisitive_ and _hopeful_. That _never_ meant anything good. He was about to talk—about to _ask_ for something—and Dean knew it.

Yep, he was already opening his mouth. “Dean?” he said softly, and he was so close to Dean’s prick he could feel the gentle brush of air when he spoke. “Would you…like me to finger your ass?”

Dean’s entire body went completely rigid.

_Oh Jesus. Oh, fuck—fuck, Jesus, God, shit, NO—_

The immediate, knee-jerk reaction that he _so wanted to do_ was to tell him _fuck_ no. That— _no._ He vividly remembered that time Cas had tried it without asking—Dean had been enjoying a nice blowjob and the next thing he knew Cas had been trying to get all up in his ass—for real that time, not the little teases and rubs he’d settled into doing lately. Dean’d just about lost it; it’d taken everything he had to not just punch him in the face, instead making himself settle for screaming at Cas to _never_ , _ever_ try that again, because he did _not_ do this like that, thank you very much! He’d stormed out of the room, leaving both of them high and dry and pretty much ruining his night, but shit, where the fuck did he get the idea that it was okay to—to _violate_ him like that?! Cas had sulked for weeks, of course, and Dean had been perfectly content to let the ass-spelunker do it—like hell he was gonna apologize or something. He’d eventually settled down and things had gone back to normal, though; Cas had tried to say something about it at one point, but Dean had cut him off and shut him up. The status quo was good, and he didn’t want to hear about it or think about it anymore, and that was that. He’d thought that would be the end of it.

But, just like _everything_ Dean said Cas was never, ever gonna do, Cas _never_ let that be the end of it, and so here he was again, _asking_ this time, all quiet and calm and tentative.

“Please?” Cas suddenly breathed before Dean could make his seized throat work to tell him _no_. “It would feel good. You would like it. Please let me.”

 _No! No no no! No, you can_ not _fucking get in my ass!_

He wanted to say it—he _so_ did. But—but he didn’t want to just _yell_ at Cas this time, not just for asking, and at least he _had_ actually asked first—but how the fuck would _he_ know if Dean’d like it or if it’d feel good?!

But…Dean was pretty sure it _would_ feel good, and that he _would_ like it, was the thing—at least, he used to. He was no stranger to getting finger action, far from it. Getting fingered while getting sucked off was _awesome_ and made him come _hard_ , as he already knew from experience. But that was just it—he was getting fingered by _women_ , not _dudes_ , or ex-angels that fucking _looked_ like dudes! Fucking Christ, letting a dude slip him a finger— _no!_

He jerked a little when Cas’s tongue slipped out and licked gently right at the head of his prick. “Please, Dean?” he asked—no, he _begged_ , and his eyes were all hopeful and upturned and soulful, and Dean fucking knew that look, that “oh, let me pleasure you, Dean Winchester” look that he always got when he wanted to try something new, from when he’d first asked if he could suck Dean off to when he’d first asked Dean to bend him over and fuck him, because that’s why he wanted to do _anything_ with Dean, it was _all_ just to _make Dean happy_ , that’s all there was to his reasoning, and _every fucking time_ , Dean knew what he was suggesting was awesome, and it would _be_ awesome, and for some reason body memory had completely taken over and he could _feel himself nodding what the fuck he was nodding yes to this?!_

He totally had, and he knew it, because there went Cas, lighting up like a Christmas tree.

Oh, _fuck_ , he’d just agreed to let Cas finger him.

 _He’d just agreed to let Cas get up inside his ass._ Oh, fuck. Fuck, _fuck_ , this was bad, this was a bad idea, this was a bad _everything_ , he had to take it back, had to take it back _now_ —

Dean’s thought scattered somewhat when Cas went back to sucking his cock, humming again, but they didn’t scatter completely because what, was he planning on just _surprising_ him? Why was he waiting?! What the fuck was he doing?! Once he got permission for something, he _always_ just did it, so what the fuck was he—

Cas’s hand was suddenly on his stomach, and he began stroking upward, pausing to gently tease Dean’s nipple for a moment, then spider-walking up a little more, touching and petting his chest, as he went. Now Dean had no fucking clue what he was doing, because his mind was shot, and he was too busy trying to process the fact that he’d just agreed to let Cas give him a goddamn prostate exam, let alone try to process why he wasn’t _doing_ it. No, he was just sucking cock and petting him, all leisurely and calm about it. He wasn’t even poking his asshole with his thumb anymore (thank fucking _God_ ); that hand was just massaging his balls. What was he _doing_?!

Cas did one long pull on his cock, sliding his mouth off and licking his lips when he finished, and then looked up at Dean, his fingers stroking his throat and then finally one coming to rest on his chin. And then Dean knew.

Oh, _hell_ no. No way. No, he was _so_ not doing that.

Cas’s index finger pressed gently against his lips, and for a long second Dean refused—he was so not opening up and goddamn _sucking_ his finger for this. _So_ not. Bad enough he’d agreed to—to _this_ , but now Cas wanted him to—to fucking do the lubing up _for_ him?! No!

But Cas just kept his finger there, not insistent or demanding or anything, just staring patiently up at him, waiting for him to do the exact thing that Cas always did any time Dean fingered _him_ …

He supposed it was the fact that he _did_ do that to Cas all the time and the weird way his body was completely disconnected from his mind at the moment that let Cas’s finger slide past his lips and into his mouth, even as Cas put Dean’s cock back in his mouth and sucked, looking almost fucking _coy_ about it, the son of a bitch.

Temporary insanity—yep, that had to be it. That had to be why he was sucking Cas’s finger as he slowly moved it in and out of his mouth in time with the way he was sucking Dean’s prick, all as a lead-up to when he was gonna slide that wet finger right up his ass. Granted, deciding he’d gone crazy didn’t make him feel any better about things, because it was still gonna happen.

Oh, fuck—gonna happen was right. Cas was pulling away, and Dean was shaking, he was so tense. He wasn’t looking down, instead staring up at the ceiling, and he knew his knuckles were white where he was gripping the couch cushions.

He sucked in a sharp breath and his back arched when he felt Cas’s wet finger slide right between his cheeks, pressing against his asshole, and fuck, he couldn’t do this, _he couldn’t fucking do this_ , there was _no fucking way—!_

“Dean, are you sure?” Cas suddenly asked quietly, sounding all concerned, stroking gently back and forth. “If you don’t want to—”

“I said yes, didn’t I?!” Dean snarled, hating how his voice cracked. “Just—just shut up and fucking _do_ it! Don’t _talk_ to me!”

Cas did shut up, but he certainly didn’t try anything either. No, he just put Dean’s cock back in his mouth, was what he did, sucking softly, and keeping up the motions of his other hand…and dammit, Dean was way too tense to enjoy how it felt. The fact that it felt good at all certainly wasn’t helping anything!

Dean shivered when Cas went a little deeper, his tongue working the underside of his prick, but then he stopped, and pulled away to lick down, all the way past his balls and to his ass—why the fuck was he going back to that?! Dean twitched when he started rimming him again, the flickering prods of his tongue so horribly awesome that he couldn’t do much of anything except ride it out, as he always did. Cas didn’t try to tongue-fuck him, but Dean could hear him making a lot of wet noises down there—and Dean knew why. He was getting him slicked up. To put his finger up his ass.

 _Son of a_ bitch _._

He knew he needed to relax—being all uptight like this was _not_ conducive to what he’d fucking agreed to do. In fact, the sensible part of his brain was insisting that that was why Cas was taking so long—because Dean _was_ uptight. But how the fuck was he supposed to relax?! _How?!_

 _Just…don’t think about it_ , he told himself. _Just don’t think about what’s gonna happen. Don’t think of it like_ that _. It’s not—goddammit, it’s not fucking_ gay _, and for Christ’s sake, how is this any worse from what you’ve ever done to_ his _asshole?! It’s not like he’s stickin’ his fucking_ dick _in you! You did this plenty before him! It’s_ fine _!_

It _so_ wasn’t fine, but he did what he told himself to do—he concentrated on Cas’s tongue, on the way his fingers were wrapped around his cock, on those little noises going on between his legs. Those were hot—that felt good.

Oh shit—his finger was back, and he was _pressing—fuck fuck_ fuck _, he couldn’t_ do _this—!_

Cas didn’t—didn’t stick it in, but he just kept his finger there as he went back to sucking cock. Dean could not take this—seriously could not take this. Could _not_ —fuck, Cas was lapping at the head, pressing his tongue up against the slit. Didn’t matter what else was going on, that always felt fucking good and drove him nuts. He just kept doing it, too, and Dean was struggling to keep his shaking breaths even.

And then Dean nearly climbed up the back of the couch, not even caring about the little squeak he just let out, because Cas just slid his finger up his ass.

Wasn’t far—was just the first knuckle. But it was enough. _Fucking hell, Cas just stuck his finger up my ass!_

It didn’t feel _bad_ or anything (which, admittedly, Dean had been worried about), but Dean didn’t really have much time to contemplate how it felt at all because Cas pulled out again just as soon as he did it, going back to that repetitive pressure on Dean’s now defensively clenched asshole as he sucked cock.

Jesus _Christ_ , this was so wrong.

Dean seriously did know that if he’d just—just fucking _relax_ , he’d be fine. Sure, Cas had no clue what he was doing, but…but he caught on quick enough. But dammit, he was a _dude_!

 _He’s_ Cas _, Winchester. It’s just_ Cas _. It’s different._

Goddammit, he _knew_ he was Cas and it was different, but what good did that do at a time like this?! It was still a dude getting up his butt!

He tensed up when things changed down there, but relaxed a tiny bit when it was just Cas’s tongue again. If things were different, he’d almost be amused by that—yes, the time had come when Dean was relieved that Cas was “only” eating him out. Ha ha.

But then his finger was back, and he felt Cas pushing, pushing _inside_ him, and he _made_ himself relax, he would not tense up, _would not tense up, goddammit!_

Yeah, he was still totally tensed up, but not as bad as last time. Still, the fact that Cas had a finger in his ass was just as bad—and he _still_ had a finger in his ass. He hadn’t taken it out. Wasn’t moving, but—

_I have a dude’s finger up my ass._

Before he could really dwell on that (more than he already was, anyway), he jumped a little when Cas abruptly sucked the head of his cock, but then just started back up with his blowjob, sucking merrily away like this was no different than any other time he went down on Dean. Dean knew what he was doing—he was trying to distract him. Well, it wasn’t working! Okay, it was working, but not as well as he wanted it to!

Oh, fuck, he was moving—for a second, Dean thought he was pulling out again, but no, any relief that had started seeping into him at the thought of Cas pulling out vanished when he just pushed forward again. And then back, and then forward again.

Because he was fucking him. He was getting _finger-fucked_ by Cas.

And—it—it felt…okay. It didn’t _hurt_ or anything, but it wasn’t anything spectacular either—was barely in, and he wasn’t even moving it around any. It was just…there.

But Dean was still trying to deal with the fact that Cas was in his ass in any capacity.

_For Christ’s sake, he just tongue-fucked you before this!_

Yeah, and that drove him insane, too!

Dean absolutely refused to accept that he was being ridiculous this time. It didn’t matter that he’d liked it when girls did it because that was the whole fucking point—girls doing it was awesome. Guys doing it _wasn’t_. It was not at all awesome. It didn’t matter that it felt nice, and it didn’t matter that the way Cas kept going just a little deeper every time he pushed his finger forward, and it didn’t matter that some tiny, weird part of him was seriously hoping Cas would have enough brains to find the sweet spot—oh, what the _fuck_ was he even thinking?!

Cas pulled all the way back again, almost completely out of his ass, his tongue running up the length of Dean’s cock as he did. Dean shivered, and then shivered again, harder this time, because Cas was sliding his finger back into his ass, slowly but surely, and he didn’t stop even at the second knuckle—nope, he kept going until he couldn’t go any further.

…and it did feel pretty damn good. Because once upon a time, Dean had liked that, and it’d been _years_ since he’d been fingered by someone else, but…god _dammit_ , it was _Cas_.

Stupidly enough, that was actually the mantra he needed to keep repeating to himself as Cas worked him. It _was_ Cas—it was Cas, and Cas was different. He and Cas were whatever they were, and they did stuff, and it was _fine_. This wasn’t necessarily _fine_ , but it…it felt pretty good, and it wasn’t like he was gonna do it all the time now, and Cas wasn’t doing it to fucking _dominate_ him or something, wasn’t just getting off on doing it—he was just doing it to _make Dean happy_ , and it wasn’t—and it wasn’t _gay_ , because whatever he did with Cas _wasn’t_ gay because _he wasn’t fucking gay_ , so he was just gonna settle down and _holy shit there it was—!_

Dean’s body spasmed and arched because Cas had gone deep and had just managed to hit the exact same jackpot that Dean always went for when he fingered or fucked him. And he was both vaguely smug and vaguely pissed about it—he was definitely satisfied that he didn’t squeal like a pig like Cas had the first time Dean had ever done that to him. But goddammit, how had Cas managed to find it so fast?! Dean had had to _work_ to figure it out!

He didn’t have much time to contemplate his outrage because Cas put Dean’s cock in his mouth right as he did it again—not as hard this time, and Dean couldn’t tell if it was ‘cause he missed or if he did it on purpose, but it still made him shudder because Cas timed how he pushed with his finger with a hard suck on his prick. Then he did it again—what the fuck, was he just gonna sit there and do that every— _fuck!_

Cas was making him jerk a little every time he did that, and he could feel him _moving_ in there, trying different _angles_ , picking which one got the biggest reaction, and he kept stroking Dean’s prick the whole time, occasionally licking the head of his cock or his balls. This was driving him out of his fucking mind. He was seriously gonna explode—he wasn’t a _stranger_ to this, so why was he feeling like a first-timer?! It had to be because it’d been so long. It’d been—shit, it’d been over fifteen years since he’d gotten fingered while getting head— _what the hell was Cas doing down there?!_ Who taught him how to do this?! If he’d been researching _this_ too with the hopes of doing it to Dean he was gonna kill him, just see if he wouldn’t!

 _Unless, of course, he’s just been practicing on_ himself _._

His thoughts scattered again when Cas pushed deep one more time, and Dean could _feel_ him, feel him crooking his finger like Dean always did to him, and the strangled moan that came out of him was pathetic but he couldn’t do much to stop it. Then Cas finally slipped out of him, slow the whole time, and it was back to nice, familiar territory that didn’t make Dean writhe and wanna climb the walls. Being deep-throated was very much back in his comfort zone, and he felt all of his tension just leaving his body—or, at least, leaving his ass.

He finally stopped staring at the ceiling and looked back down at Cas. That son of a bitch actually had the nerve to look smug—and with his lips locked around Dean’s prick, that was particularly irritating. Prying his fingers off of the couch cushion, he reached up to get a hand in Cas’s hair again, grounding himself with the feel of Cas’s head moving under his hand as he gave him a blowjob, because he’d always loved that, even the first time he’d ever done it. He wasn’t doing much of anything special at the moment; it was just the nice, easy rhythm like Dean had wanted in the first place, up and down, sucking as he pulled back and pressing gently against his balls with each stroke. It was pretty damn awesome, hypnotic almost hypnotic, and Dean could already feel everything loosening up and relaxing to the way he’d been when Cas had first started all this. He’d—he’d let Cas do it, and it’d been okay, didn’t hurt, he didn’t yell, and he was fine now. And not gay.

Dean grunted a little when Cas licked down his cock to suck on his balls, one at a time, and then bit down hard on his lip when Cas went lower still, flickering his tongue right on Dean’s asshole, one hand gripping his buttcheek and spreading his ass a bit so he could lap and tease. But he didn’t stay there long—just long enough to make Dean tense up a little and his pulse start thudding in his neck, the bastard—before he slid Dean’s cock back in his mouth, slow and easy and all the way. Dean watched as he did, his stomach muscles contracting, the heat in his gut curling down into his balls and little sparks shooting down his legs when Cas looked up, Dean’s full length down his throat. God, that was hot.

After he pulled back, he gripped Dean’s prick with one hand and started jerking, and Dean decided he’d be mad later about how he whimpered because Cas meant business now—his fingers were tight and the pace was fast, and Dean decided that he was okay with getting to the finish line. This had already dragged out longer than he’d wanted and included stuff he’d never signed on to do. He moaned a little when Cas started sucking just at the head of his prick, his tongue pressing against the slit at the tip over and over—

The whimper he’d just let out was nothing compared to the noise he made when Cas slid his finger right back up his ass, just one smooth motion, and he was finger-fucking him now in time with the fist around his prick and the tongue at the head, and this was way, way too much, fucking _Christ_ , he couldn’t _take_ this, all the heat in his belly was too much, the way his legs were trembling was too much, the way he had something _up his ass_ was _too fucking much_ —

Dean opened his mouth to say something— _anything_ —maybe to say Cas’s name, to tell him to slow down, to make him get out of his ass, to make him fucking _stop_ , he didn’t know. But he didn’t get the chance. Cas was panting, catching his breath as he kept working him, and Dean could feel his hot breath against his skin, and then he pushed his finger in deep, _hard_ , curling it as his other hand pumped Dean’s cock—

“ _Oh, Jesus FUCK!_ ” Dean shrieked, his voice spiraling up into girlish heights of indignity because Cas did _something_ in there and everything that had been building decided it was _done_ and he _exploded_ , his balls seizing and then abruptly releasing all that pressure but Cas’s fist was still moving, tight and fast on his cock, _oh God, his mouth_ , now he was _sucking him_ , his lips tight around him, and Dean was almost sobbing, it felt so _good_ , and his finger was still moving, still _fucking_ him, and he was thrashing and wailing what was probably a bunch of obscenities but who the fuck _cared_ , he couldn’t _take_ this, too much _Cas was too much fuck fuck stop don’t stop can’t_ —

Cas _did_ stop, finally, leaving Dean to slump down, quivering helplessly and trying (and failing) to make himself breathe again. His cock slid out of Cas’s mouth at the same time he took his finger out of his ass, and he didn’t have the energy to bother being annoyed at that pitiful wheeze he just made, let alone try and stop it from happening. He became painfully aware that his hands were gripping the back of the couch—painfully, in that his fingers were starting to hurt. Prying his hands off, he flopped his arms back down by his side, finally forcing his eyes open and looking at Cas, still down on his knees between Dean’s legs.

And it was just in time to see him reaching up and wiping the back of his hand across his cheek, smearing the little bit of come that had wound up there because apparently, Dean hadn’t been the only one caught off guard. Well, served the little bastard right.

Cas finally looked up at him after he rubbed his hand on the leg of his jeans, his arm still up under Dean’s leg so that it was almost on his shoulder, and Dean decided he looked way, way too pleased with himself. That was not acceptable, and Dean was gonna wipe that look off his face immediately. Immediately being when he recovered. Which would not be long. He was not just gonna let Cas _finger his fucking ass_ and—and _get away with it_ , no, he was gonna _pay_.

Dean just needed to…sit for a minute. That was all. He needed to _not_ think about how he’d let Cas finger-fuck him. And he needed to _not_ think about how he’d just had an orgasm sneak up on him for the first time in he couldn’t even _remember_ how long. Because Cas had stuck a finger up his ass. And it’d been awesome. Because it being awesome was not cool. Because it was horrible. He just…he needed to get over to the bed. And take Cas with him. Showing Cas who was boss around here would fix this. And he deserved it.

He moved his leg where it was still halfway hitched up over Cas’s shoulder, and the motion got Cas to drop it; he still had that serene, smug look all over his face. Dean heaved himself forward, leaning his elbows on his knees, and it took him a minute to fight off his post-sex exhaustion to realize that he was butt-naked and Cas was only halfway there. Goddammit, he had no clothes on in front of Cas. Why was Cas still wearing clothes, anyway? Didn’t that go against whatever nudist doctrine he had in his weird head?

Dean grunted a bit in surprise when Cas suddenly leaned up and kissed him; his eyes had closed again without him realizing it and he didn’t know Cas had moved until he felt his lips pressing against his, one hand sliding around the back of Dean’s neck to hold him there. Dean kissed back, mostly ‘cause he couldn’t think of anything else to do, and when Cas broke it, Dean decided he’d fooled around long enough—time to make Cas squeak too. So there.

“Bed,” he managed. “Get in bed.” He was appalled to hear how slurred he sounded—you’d think he was drunk.

Cas obediently rocked back on his heels and stood up, going over to the sink and leaving Dean to flop around on the couch for a second as he struggled to get up. He finally managed on the third try, and was vaguely alarmed to feel how unsteady he was, his knees wobbling as he lurched towards the bed himself. He spotted his shorts on the way, though, all wadded up with his jeans, and decided he needed those. No way he was sleeping without them this time.

Dammit, he nearly fell over picking them up. Yeah, that would’ve been great—fall over and sit there on the floor naked? In front of Cas, no less? He supposed it was that last thought that kept him upright. After that, he pretty much collapsed onto the bed, sitting in a stupor for a moment before dragging his shorts back on. By then Cas was done washing up and was sliding in on the other side, and a glance over his shoulder revealed he’d shucked all his clothes, too. Good—that meant Dean didn’t have to do it. ‘Cause he was gonna pay him back now. Make _him_ shriek. See how he liked it. He just needed to get his bearings.

Dean eased himself up into the bed, fighting sluggishly with the covers to get under them before just letting himself drop the rest of the way onto the mattress, and decided that a rest would be good—give him more time to gear up for whatever he was gonna do to Cas. So he lay there on his back, his eyes closed and one arm thrown over them, and tried to forget that he’d just had his ass fingered a minute ago, ignoring the fact that it didn’t _matter_ if he remembered, no, because he could still _feel_ it—he always had that weird sensation anytime he’d had the exit used as an entrance. _Goddammit, Cas._

Speaking of, he was sidling up to him now. He wasn’t putting his arms around him, but he was snuggling up next to him, curling up and putting a hand on his arm. Dean dropped his arm and cracked an eye open and managed to look at him; Cas was _still smug_ , the bastard, his eyes soft and shiny, and Dean tried to scowl at him when he pressed a kiss against his shoulder, but his eyes wound up closing anyway.

Just a couple of minutes. Then he’d fix ‘im. He’d pay for this. He’d _so_ pay for this…

* * *

Dean swore Cas was still smug the next morning.

Son of a _bitch_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is.
> 
> That is why we felt it necessary to include “Sick Love Song”, as brutal and harsh as it was. Without it, this fic would’ve seemed like just one more of Dean’s “I’M NOT GAY!!!” freakouts that everyone rolls their eyes over, but no, it is not. Dean just made a massive step in getting past issues he doesn’t even know he has, and without seeing just how bad it was for him in the past, we wouldn’t be able to fully appreciate how far he’s come.
> 
> That is why we decided to post these in this particular order. First, we presented Dean’s issues and shed light on his past behavior—i.e., the way he always became agitated when Cas messed with his butt in any capacity and where a certain amount of his own internalized homophobia came from—as well as showing how he lashed out when he felt he’d been “violated” and took it out on the wrong people. After that, we showed Dean recognizing his behavior as wrong, even though he still doesn’t fully understand why he did it, and acknowledging that none of that was on Cas, before showing how much he loves and adores Cas and wants to please him and wants to reassure Cas that the angel is everything he needs. Following that, we had Dean having a tantrum over something that yet again wasn’t Cas’s fault, but this time it _was_ something very, very stupid—and once he sees how much he hurt Cas over it, not only does he willingly and quickly push aside his own issues, but he acknowledges that he was in the wrong and actually communicates somewhat with Cas.
> 
> All of it combined provides what we hope is a nice, clear path that shows how much Dean loves Cas, how much he _trusts_ him, and how much he wants to make him happy, and thus wants to try and make their relationship a little more equal, and so set the stage for this resolution chapter. Dean’s finally moving past the most horrible and traumatizing part of his life, not even realizing that he’s letting Cas help him simply by, well…letting Cas in. He’s never completely fine with it, of course, and he will still have each initial spaz attack (and sometimes just won’t let him do it at all), but he has started to tamp it down with that same mantra that has gotten him through every single hardship and obstacle in his way:
> 
> It’s Cas. It’s just _Cas_.
> 
> So! That’s the end of our dark fic—from here on out, it’s all fun. But do remember that any time Cas gets to try something new with Dean, he’s gonna keep doing it, and, well, we’ve said that the remaining pieces are pretty porny, so we’ll just leave you with that thought, shall we?


End file.
